Hour of the Scourge
by LordImperator
Summary: After the Lich King unleashes a terrible assault, the Alliance and Horde march to the frozen wastes of Northrend. But can they triumph over its evils before it is too late?
1. Chapter 1: Beginnings

**HOUR OF THE SCOURGE**

**NOTE: **I am playing fast and loose with canon here, so don't expect it to match canon exactly.

**CHAPTER 1: THE BEGINNING**

Every story has a beginning and every beginning takes place somewhere.

This story begins in the dark, shadowed halls of Naxxramas Necropolis. Its shadowy, vast structure floated darkly over the wretched, blighted Plaguelands, at the very heart, near Stratholme and the mushroom-wooded Plaguewood. Near it floated two lesser Necropoli – Phlegethon, the Vile Hold, and Stygius, the Shadowed Hold. There had once been three – but Acherus, the Ebon Hold, home to the new breed of Death Knights, had rebelled at Light's Hope, built on a hill which loomed like a mountain over the fog of plague.

Kel'thuzad, Majordomo to the Lich King and Commander of Lordaeron, looked intently at the purple-shaded, floating and transparent relief map of Lordaeron and Quel'thalas he had conjured, showing all its cities and ruins, everything from Quel'danas to the Thandol Span. The dispositions of Argent Dawn, Blood Elf and Forsaken forces were shown everywhere, displaying their numbers and movements as they occurred in real time.

Then, the map faded away, to reveal another figure – tall, proud, clad in armour of what seemed to be black iron and bearing a great runeblade that shone with evil blue fire. His eyes were endless blue flames, smoke curling away from them, and he looked vaguely transparent.

He looked the very incarnation of evil.

And then, he spoke, in two cold voices that moved as one.

'KEL'THUZAD. I ORDER YOU TO DESTROY THE ENEMIES OF THE SCOURGE. YOU SHALL BE GRANTED ACCESS TO THE FULL MIGHT OF THE SCOURGE. SOON, THE MORTAL RACES SHALL BE DROWNED IN BLOOD. REMEMBER THIS: FROSTMOURNE HUNGERS!'

'Yes, my Lord...it shall be done...'

Blood Knight Lord-General Keledan Dawnbringer looked from the balcony at the Sunwell, once corrupted by the Scourge and Kil'jaeden, then cleansed by the Heart of M'uru. He drank in its power, feeling the energies flow through him, strengthening the Light he wielded as a blazing sword against the enemies of Quel'thalas.

But there were worrying developments to the south, there was an increased level of Scourge activity in the Ghostlands, and he could not ignore his duty to Quel'thalas and the Sin'dorei people. That was why he was worried, the Undead were moving for something, and he could not tell what. He left quickly, not making excuses, going outside the Sunwell Terrace and onto the green grass of Quel'danas, the demons driven away and Kael'thas's traitors routed. There, he found the messenger.

The messenger was tall, with blond hair and the glowing green eyes characteristic of the Blood Elves.

He bore the tabard of Lor'themar's personal attendants.

'Lord-General,' the messenger spoke. 'I bear tidings of ill fortune. Lor'themar Theron has summoned you personally.'

'There is no need for formalities,' Keledan said. 'I'll go and see what the Lord-Regent has to say.'

The messenger made a complex motion with his hand, opening a portal to Lor'themar's audience chamber. Keledan walked through, and vanished from sight, the messenger following him.

Scout Carolus of the Argent Dawn looked from his Gryphon down at the Plaguelands, which still belonged to the Scourge in large part. From this altitude, there were no features visible under the plague-mist that covered the land. But things were visible – purple lights, evenly spaced around Stratholme and Andorhal, also shining irregularly all over the Plaguelands. Carolus had a bad feeling in his gut.

What, in the name of the Light, could those purple lights mean? Then it hit him – _portals_. The Scourge was opening hundreds, no, thousands of portals from Northrend directly to the Plaguelands. Fear filled him like a vice around his heart – he had to warn the Highlord immediately, and even that wouldn't be enough, he thought.

He flew his Gryphon straight to Light's Hope Chapel, hoping against hope that he was fast enough.

And if he wasn't, Light rest his soul.

The Dark Marshal appeared with a flash of dark light in the Necromantic womb that was Deatholme. He looked at the scene, the Plague-tortured sky weeping the blood of the fallen as it screamed in agony, the shadowy energies that the Lich King commanded ripping reality itself apart to let a group of Abominations through. They would be his guards, as cultists hooded in black cloaks appeared in yet more flashes of dark light, reality itself twisting and buckling under the hellish corruption that had been unleashed.

The Dark Marshal raised his hand, letting the energies of death itself fill him, then releasing them into the ground. Almost immediately, masses of skeletons and ghouls rose up, pouring out of the cursed earth itself, the black soil breaking open as more and more broke out of the tainted land.

Warriors of the frozen wastes exploded into existence near him, ready to serve their Death God, as the Dark Marshal reflected upon his new, perfect existence. Once he had served Kael'thas with all his heart, until the Draenei had slain him. His compatriots had done a fine job of preserving the body – until the Cult of the Damned had found a greater purpose for it, and dragged his soul back into his flesh.

The dark marshal laughed, a psychotic, harsh cackle that was completely insane.


	2. Chapter 2: The Darkest Hour

**CHAPTER 2: THE DARKEST HOUR **

Keledan's feet touched the tainted soil of the Dead Scar, filling him with cold hatred. His lieutenant, Commander Amnios Morningstar, followed closely behind him, leading the Blood Knight contingent of this expedition. They were nearing Deatholme, the soil itself of that tainted place corrupted beyond redemption, the poisoned sky screaming in agony as it wept futile tears of blood.

Before him was an army of Scourge, lead by a mysterious figure, his face hidden underneath armour of black iron.

He said five words, in a high and dark voice.

'I am the Dark Marshal.'

Amnios looked like he was yearning to fight, but Keledan stopped him, holding him back. He had to wait, wait for the Scourge to attack. An offensive was out of the question, the Scourge would simply swallow their small numbers, but a defence had a chance of succeeding, a miniscule one but a chance all the same,

Keledan glared at the Dark Marshal, who simply raised his hand, throwing Amnios into the air and holding him there, trapped by a field of unholy energy. Keledan rushed to save him, but chains of ice burst from the ground, holding him down and freezing him in a block of ice as everything went black... 

/|\

Amnios Morningstar watched in horror, helpless as Keledan froze. He couldn't move, held in the air and trapped. The Dark Marshal was walking closer to him, raising his runebladed sword, then making a complex gesture with his hand - and there he was in the halls of a Necropolis, crumpled on the floor. The Dark Marshal was next to him, with a group of Scourge surrounding him, including a Necromancer.

Then, he saw that Keledan was frozen in a block of ice, close to the wall, trapped in a position of running, his eyes still open and moving - he was somehow still alive.

He wanted to scream, but there was nothing he could do as the freezing ice covered his body...

/|\

'What's happening?' Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind, said as the various delegates from the Alliance members came. Tyrande Whisperwind, Gelbin Mekkatorque, Magni Bronzebeard, Vindicator Itoxos of the Draenei, and Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore.

''The Scourge is invading,' Proudmoore replied.

'Where?' Varian asked.

'In Lordaeron, and in the Barrens. There's apparently heavy fighting in the Crossroads and at Brill. They're also pushing through the Alterac Moluntains into Hillsbrad, and have just been driven back in Quel'thalas and at Dalaran.'

'Is the _Valiance_ ready?' Varian asked to Gelbin Mekkatorque, King of the Gnomes.

'Almost, almost – we're still installing the reactor, but it should be over soon. Soon, we'll be able to rain down death on the Scourge!'

'Good...' Varian said, still musing. He needed to reclaim Lordaeron – the unholy, accursed Forsaken held it still. He would collapse their wretched 'undercity' and disband their abominable kingdom of murderers and traitors, when he got the chance. When the Scourge was over with, of course. Damn the Forsaken, damn them all!

'Men!' he said. 'Soon, the expedition to reclaim Northrend and crush the Traitor-Prince Arthas will begin. This is the moment you have all been waiting for! The Great Crusade to annihilate the Scourge and cast them down forevermore! To destroy them utterly, so that the walls of Icecrown itself will fall crashing down to the very ground! This is the hour, when we strike, as the Alliance united!'

'And so,' he continued. 'Shall be the fate of all who oppose the infinite power and glory of the Alliance! Long live the Alliance! Long live Stormwind's king!'

'LONG LIVE STORMWIND'S KING!' the assembled soldiers yelled. Soon, it became a cry of 'LONG LIVE KING VARIAN! LONG LIVE THE KING!'

/|\

Thrall looked at the reports. The Scourge had been driven back at Quel'thalas and at Brill, and the tide in the Barrens had turned. The issue now was when to strike. Thrall stared at the troops assembled before him, warlocks from Undercity, Magisters from Silvermoon, Kor'kron Elites and Tauren braves.

'Warriors of the Horde!' Thrall declared. 'Today is the day that we destroy the Undead Scourge. For long years, they have been lead by the Human Arthas, the Traitor Prince. Soon, we will prove the weakness of the Scourge, as our axes destroy them and our heart's blood yet flows in our veins! Lok'tar Ogar! VICTORY OR DEATH! **FOR THE HORDE**!'

The expedition leader, Garrosh Hellscream, spoke again. 'Today, we crush all in our path. Today, the weak pinkskin humans learn to fear the might of the Horde! Today...FOR VICTORY! LOK'TAR OGAR!'

/|\

The Dark Marshal looked through the crystal orb, showing the armoured visage of the Lich King himself. It faded away into mist, displaying nothing. Then, his two servants, Vallenhal and Perenolde, approached him, kneeling before him.

'Vallenhal,' he dictated into the air. 'Perenolde, you are my hands in the world. Your orders are to guard this Necropolis of death and drive it to Northrend. I will fly to Icecrown upon Sindragosa. If they follow, do not hesitate to destroy them all!'

'Understood,' they uttered unhesitatingly.

/|\

Twilight Priest Veleran Deathblade smiled as his ship approached the craggy, rocky coast of the dread continent of Northrend. The trek to the Master's prison had only begun, and many would fall along the way, but the voices would guide him to it, where His power and influence was strongest. Soon, they would all be rendered immortal in new bodies, by the grace of Yogg-Saron, and then the world would be torn down and die screaming.

/|\

The _Valiance_ rose over Stormwind Harbour, the great hangar built into the mountain opening up as the colossal bulk of the gigantic machine rose steadily into the air, flying high despite its immense weight. For that one could thank its engines and propellers, the Gnomish engineers who built it had never been enamoured with Zeppelins, particularly the self-destructive kind favoured by the Goblins.

A solid gold statue of King Varian Wrynn stood at its prow, sword facing forward, the returned king lunging toward the enemy. The great, fantastic machine was powered by an atomic reactor assisted by mana-taps, providing massive amounts of power to the ship, channelling furious amounts of power into its many weapons, a full broadside from them capable of taking down a Necropolis. In many respects, it was good, with the capability to launch Gnomish fighter-planes as well as being capable of transporting several dwarven steam-tanks.

In the bomb-bay, it had a single missile, larger than a drake. Whispered words between engineers and soldiers held it to be some manner of 'ultimate weapon' but what exactly it was would not be revealed until it was actually used – which was a long time away.

Soon, it was flying to Northrend, to be the harbinger of doom for the Scourge.


End file.
